When I took my lunch into the café seating area, I stopped in my tracks: behold my ex-husband with the woman who tore us apart. They were the only people there, leaning toward each other in mid-conversation. I know they saw me, though they didn’t turn their heads. I slinked back to the other side of the café. As I gripped the counter, fury swelled. It had been hardly a month since we signed the separation agreement. I wanted to say, “Oh look, it’s Peter and his new wife!” I refrained.
You would think my marriage ended in an adulterous cliché, but that was not the case. The other woman was his longtime friend and business partner, Michelle. Their relationship had always been platonic. I didn’t know anything about her when Peter and I met in 2006. I was a fledgling filmmaker in New York City, seeking an attractive actor with clown experience to co-star with me in my short film. At the audition, magic danced between us. When he mime-ate the soundproofing cork on the wall, I was enchanted. I had found my clown. Although I tried to remain professional, by the time production started, we had already “rehearsed” the sex scene. Onscreen and off, we were flying.
There was a superhuman aura about Michelle before she entered my life – Peter told me she was psychic, and though they’d been estranged for years, he spoke of her with reverence. “She’s the most powerful person I know,” he said. They had known each other since college, where she directed him in Romeo and Juliet. Years later, they formed a creative corporation along with two other people. A quirky pop-up book landed them on talk shows and a TV network had signed on to produce one of their pilots. When the network folded, they were already running out of money. They filed bankruptcy. Peter and Michelle grew apart.
Early into our relationship, they reconnected. When I met her, I was surprised she was bubbly and maternal, like a Long Island cousin of Glinda the Good Witch. Apparently her intuition had evolved, inspiring Peter to not only forgive her for misguiding their business, but put her on a pedestal. I was skeptical, but so in love with him I trusted his review. I started doing intuitive coaching sessions with her to help me with anxiety and depression. Not only were her readings spot on, I felt like I had an army of light invested in my healing and success.
Five years later, Peter and I were engaged—our relationship was passionate, but imbalanced. I had inherited wealth while he struggled to make a living as a performer. I stopped giving him money to avoid enabling his financial mismanagement and dependency on me. Shame about my privilege and fear of being exploited influenced my desire for a sense of equality without combining finances. He didn’t understand why we couldn’t share like other couples. “We are not like other couples,” I said. Despite the disparity, our connection sparkled when we made love and art, had adventures, and envisioned how we would inspire the world with our creativity.
Michelle understood my frustration. She diagnosed Peter with “terminal vagueness” and agreed it wasn’t my job to financially support him. Meanwhile, she was guiding me through the development of my first feature film. I hired her to be my on-set assistant. Since I was writer, producer, co-director and lead actor, she was a buffer between me and production problems, helping me feel more grounded and focused on my performance. Her presence was vital to the success of the production.
A few years later, Michelle’s presence in my life had lost its vitality. I started to distrust her as she and Peter were reviving an old project, expecting me to believe profit was imminent. At the same time, I admired their perseverance. Maybe their ventures would generate lucrative income, make up for past mistakes, and bring Peter and I closer to equality. But whenever I saw them together, finishing each other’s sentences with cloying confidence, I felt like I had to compete for his attention.
The competition extended to his work habits and clutter in our apartment, encroaching on my dream of us as a creative power couple. While discussing making an offer on a spacious Hudson Valley house, Peter said, “I can see myself writing a play there.” It felt like a turning point toward fulfilling that dream. I bought the house, but after we moved in, he didn’t write a play. While I was doing a MFA and paying for ninety percent of our life together, he spent most of his time on the phone or Zoom with Michelle and potential collaborators and investors. They formed a new corporation. He kept saying, “Something big is happening… important people are very interested in me… money is on its way soon.”
Meanwhile, significant income Peter made on a commercial came and went without my knowledge till I saw the number on our tax return. When he claimed the money went into the house, I couldn’t help thinking those invisible dollars were in the account of Michelle, who I had paid to protect my most vulnerable self. I had already stopped sessions with her—how could she continue to guide me if she was part of my biggest problem? Months of silence exacerbated my distrust. I considered reaching out, but was afraid Peter would take her side. I felt like an outsider in my own marriage.
“I miss our creative connection,” I told him. “Everything is about you and Michelle now. What are you doing with her? What happened to us? You may as well be having an affair.”
I pointed out that she never had a serious romantic partner. He accused me of jealousy. I couldn’t deny this, though it wasn’t just about his attention. I was hurt they didn’t want my feedback on their content. The only solution seemed to be to avoid the subject of his work entirely. This minimized conflict, but reduced our communication to the mundane, pushing us further apart. To break the stalemate, Peter shared some of their project materials. I grimaced at reality TV pitches. He insisted he was building a structure for the art he really wanted to do. When I asked if he would consider getting a stable part-time job, he scoffed, and said, “I feel like you don’t believe in me.”
I told him I had always believed in him and his talent. I just didn’t believe in this all-consuming business that was neither financially reliable nor artistically aligned. I tried and failed to make him see what was breaking my heart: the magic that brought us together was being stripped away and repackaged into an investment that excluded me. How could I support this without going numb?
In 2021, the day before my birthday vacation, Peter was filming a promotional video with Michelle directing him on Zoom. When I went upstairs to check on his progress, I cringed at the sight of him in full mime costume, props scattered on the floor.
“Just a few more minutes,” he assured.
A few hours later, anger propelled me up again. “We’re supposed to be in the city already, preparing for our flight.”
“This is important,” he said. “Just let me finish, please.”
The word “important” pierced my heart, a word he formerly used in reference to me and our relationship. Before huffing down the stairs, I caught a glimpse of Michelle on his laptop screen, looking at me with placid disapproval.
I was bewildered. How did we get here after three years of couples therapy? Is this just about my insecurities? Am I replaying something from my childhood? Am I, as Peter suggested, afraid he’s going to be successful and make more money than me? Am I crazy? Michelle would often say in our sessions, “Does it feel constricted or expansive?” I used to have a hard time trusting my gut, but now, thanks to Michelle’s guidance, there was no doubt—every constricted cell in my body screamed that the business of Peter and Michelle was killing the soul of my marriage.
A few months after Peter and I mutually separated, grief compelled me to write him a letter, apologizing for hurtful things I had done. Reconciliation seemed possible, but when I brought up the big unresolved issues, he recoiled.
“You would have to make up with Michelle,” he said.
I expressed that their business partnership felt incestuous.
“You mean, there’s something toxic about it?” He asked, gaze down, as if he was tasting a new truth.
“Yes.”
A moment later, he declared, “I’m going to continue working with her, probably for the rest of my life.”
My heart rebroke. I sought clarity from trusted mutual friends. Their perspectives not only confirmed my intuition, they reassured me I was not alone in my experience. Through therapy and self-nurturing, I developed a healthier relationship with money and better boundaries with people. As soon as something feels off, I turn inward: do I feel safe, connected and seen? The answer directs my choices from a place of clarity and compassion. I now understand how I betrayed myself through dependency on Peter and Michelle for my creative and emotional wellbeing. We play roles according to the wounds within us, and I am grateful to them for being both the scalpel and the balm.
It’s liberating to finally trust my power to know when someone or something is worth my energy and love. I’m now happily married to my creativity, and we are flying.
